I'll Make You Mine

by Gia Riley

  I let him take her back to the hallway and I stand up, looking for the closest restroom.

  “Do you want me to come with you?” Kyler asks.

  I shake my head. Everything I need to say, can’t be said out loud. I need to have a conversation with my mother.

  Zoe

  “It’s time,” Dad tells me as he enters Dylan’s hospital room.

  I open Dylan’s hand and kiss his palm. “I have to go, Dylan.” There’s so much more I want to say but the words get clogged in my throat.

  Dad hands me a cup and I take a sip of water. “Why can’t I stay?”

  “Because it’s better if you don’t. You don’t want to have these memories, sweetheart.”

  My mind’s already full of things I wish I could erase. The past two weeks have been nothing but tests and updates about his condition. For someone who dreamed of working in a hospital, I hate it here. I’d be okay with never setting foot inside another.

  “I love you so much,” I whisper. “Stay with me, Dylan.”

  The nurse pushes another round of medication into his system. If all goes well, it’ll bring him out of the medically-induced coma they’ve kept him in and his body will handle breathing on its own.

  What if he’s not ready?

  What if he needs another day or two to heal?

  “Don’t let him struggle, Dad. Promise me you’ll help him if he can’t breathe.”

  “Come on, it’s time to leave,” he tells me again.

  I hear him, but I can’t let go of Dylan. Eight years of my life have revolved around him, and I don’t think I want to live another day if he’s not in my world anymore.

  “Zoe,” Dad says again, this time with authority. He knows I’m struggling. He sees it.

  Before I leave, I kiss his cheek and whisper in his ear. “Marry me, Dylan. Wake up and make me your wife. No matter what, I’ll take care of you.”

  The nurse gives me a sad smile and watches as I pick up my sweater. With my hand on the door, I take one last glance, just in case it’s the last time I see him alive.

  Linda’s already gone to the cafeteria for coffee. She didn’t want to talk about the procedure or what we’ll do if he still can’t breathe on his own. She just wants her son back.

  Dad encourages me to join her, but I can’t go that far. I stay close to Dylan’s room because if he struggles for even a second, I want to know about it. Nothing they’re trying to shield me from is more traumatizing than seeing him lying unconscious in the street. It doesn’t get any worse than that. His bloody shoe shows up in my dreams, every single night.

  It’s day thirteen, almost two weeks since the accident. Thirteen days of waiting and watching.

  Waiting for them to wake him up.

  Watching for signs he’s in trouble.

  But Dylan is the strongest person I know. He’ll wake up and we’ll laugh again. And I’ll never waste another day of my life arguing or being stubborn. I’ll let him have all of me and I’ll toss away my notebook full of pros and cons lists. Because in the grand scheme of things, life is filled with risks and so many amazing rewards. Whether I fall flat on my face or not, doesn’t matter. Dylan will be there to pick me up.

  “Zo, don’t you want to take a shower? We can get something to eat?”

  Keely’s been my rock. Every day, she’s been here to check on me. I haven’t left the hospital once.

  School can wait.

  Homework can wait.

  The rest of the world can wait.

  “I’m not hungry,” I tell her.

  All I’ve been able to keep down is soup. Soup makes me think of Dylan and I’d do anything to share a bowl and knock his spoon out of the way. I’ll make the biggest batch of potato once he’s discharged.

  She hands me a sandwich in a plastic container. I don’t want it and I push it away. “Eat, Zoe. You’ve lost weight. Those pants used to hug your ass and now they’re hanging.”

  “I’m fine, Keely.” If it wasn’t for her bringing me clothes and things to shower, I’d still be dressed in the same outfit I wore to the party. She’s kept me moving and she’s been the voice of reason during the darker moments.

  “Do you think he’s awake yet?” I ask her.

  “You heard Dad, it’ll take some time. It hasn’t been that long.”

  “What if he’s different when he wakes up?”

  She takes my hand and sits me in a chair next to the nurse’s station. “Not even a head injury would keep that boy from loving you, Zoe. Don’t question it. Sure, he’ll be in pain and he’ll need more time to heal, but you’ll help him. We’ll all help him until he’s one hundred percent.”

  We both jump when the monitors in Dylan’s room all go off at the same time. They haven’t been this wild since the night they shoved the breathing tube down his throat. His blood pressure plummeted, and he had a room filled with doctors and nurses within seconds.

  It was the second scariest moment of my life.

  “Keely,” I whisper. “What’s happening?”

  “I don’t know,” she says. “It’s all part of the process I’m sure.”

  She’s probably right, but I’m still a bundle of nerves. Until I see Dad with a smile on his face, I’ll assume the worst and hope for the best.

  “Did you hear that?” she asks.

  “He’s awake, Keely. I know he’s awake.” I stand up and make a run for the door, buts she’s faster than I am and keeps me from going inside the room. “I need to be there when he opens his eyes.”

  “You need to wait. Dad said to stay out here. Dylan will be disoriented. Give him time to adjust.”

  “I don’t want him to remember the accident.” It’ll haunt me for the rest of my life, but Dylan needs to move forward without constant reminders. The scars on his body will be enough.

  “Maybe he won’t,” she says.

  “What’s taking so long?”

  “Dad won’t let him suffer, Zoe. If Dylan can’t handle being off the machines, he’ll put him back on and keep him comfortable.”

  She’s right. For once, my sister is right and I trust her.

  The next half hour seems more like ten but the second Dylan’s awake and stable, Dad’s rushing down the hallway toward us. His eyes are hopeful and his expression no longer bleak. “Dad?”

  “He’s okay, Zoe. He’s okay.”

  The weight that’s been sitting on my chest evaporates into thin air. “He’s really awake?”

  “Yes, you can come in the room, but I can only give you a couple minutes. He needs to see the therapists.”

  A couple minutes isn’t enough, but I’ll take whatever I can get. Dad wraps his arm around my shoulders and I lean my head against his chest. He warns me about what I’m walking in on, that Dylan isn’t one hundred percent. His voice won’t sound like it usually does because his throat is raw from the tube. He’s pale and lightheaded, but with time, it’ll all get better.

  I tell myself I don’t care what he looks like or how he sounds, just that he’s alive. But when I walk into the room, I freeze. He’s listening to the nurse, but turns his head toward the doorway. I’m standing there, staring. He smiles but it doesn’t light up his eyes like it usually does.

  “Come here, Zo,” he croaks.

  Shuffling to the side of the bed, I keep my hands clasped and pick at my nail polish. I’m afraid to move too fast or get too close, even though I want to hug him.

  The nurse checks his blood pressure and he winces when the cuff squeezes his arm. “Say something,” he whispers.

  “Dylan, I thought. I thought you were.” I can’t finish my sentence before the tears spill down my cheeks. He reaches for my hand and I have to force my brain to move my own limbs. Surreal, that’s the only way to describe it. The last time I saw him awake, he was in the basement of Trevor’s house, playing pool without a care in the world.

  Then he was lying in the street, lifeless.

  “I’m okay,” he says. “Come closer before they start poking m
e again.”

  We only have a couple minutes, but I don’t know what to say or how to act. I thought we were over. I thought my chance at happiness had been taken away. Now, it’s sitting right in front of me and I don’t know what to say or how to act.

  “I was so scared, Dylan. Tell me again, that you’re okay.”

  “My throat’s killing me, but I’m okay, baby.”

  Finally, I have the courage to raise my hand and hold his. It’s colder than normal, but it’s still Dylan. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and when my chest stops constricting, I take another look at him. “Don’t ever leave me again.”

  “I don’t plan on it,” he whispers. “We haven’t had enough time.”

  Dad places his hand on my shoulder and I can tell it pains him when he nods toward the door. “Already?” I ask him.

  “Yes, I’ll bring you back as soon as the tests are done.”

  “Okay.” I try to let go of Dylan, but he grips me tighter. “What is it?”

  His dimple pops and he puckers his lips so hard I laugh. Dad gives me a second to kiss my boyfriend, and I don’t even care that he’s watching us. All I care about are Dylan’s warm lips on mine. I want more, but it’ll have to be enough until I’m allowed back in.

  It ends up taking another two hours for the tests to finish. The second I get the go ahead, I’m by Dylan’s bedside. Even then, I don’t get him to myself. Respiratory therapists spend the afternoon with him and when they’re finished, his eyes are heavy. Still on a generous dose of pain medication, he’s fighting to stay awake.

  Everyone’s had their turn and I’ve waited in the corner, afraid to get too close in case something happened. So far, he’s handled the tests and the questions like the Dylan I fell in love with.

  When we’re finally alone, he motions me closer.

  I want to run and smother him with kisses, but I hold back, afraid that if I touch him, I’ll hurt him. “I’m so glad you’re awake.”

  “I feel like I swallowed glass,” he whispers. He clears his throat and winces.

  I don’t have the heart to tell him he probably did after he hit the windshield. “Take your time. Don’t talk if it hurts.”

  He shakes his head and says, “Are you okay?”

  “Me?”

  He nods. “Yeah.”

  “Dylan, you’re the one with the collapsed lung, broken ribs, fractured skull—”

  “That car fucked me up pretty good, didn’t it?”

  “Don’t joke, Dylan.” I blink back tears and all I can hear is Letty’s voice, screaming for Trevor. But Dylan doesn’t know she was behind the wheel.

  “I’m sorry, Zo.”

  “It’s my fault.”

  “Stop. Not another word about it.” He tugs on my arm so I’m forced to sit on the edge of the bed.

  “Do you need anything? I can get colder water.”

  “No, I just want you before they poke me again. I’ve lost so much time.”

  “You didn’t miss a thing.”

  “Did you mean it?” he asks.

  I rack my brain, trying to figure out what he’s talking about. “Did I mean what?”

  An adorable smirk takes my breath away. God, I prayed I’d see that dimple again.

  He reaches for the straw on his tray and removes the paper wrapper, ripping it in half. Then he picks up my left hand and ties it around my ring finger.

  He heard me.

  “Dylan.”

  “If you meant it, Zo, I’m marrying you as soon as I get out of this shithole.”

  I stare at my hand with tears in my eyes. It’s the most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen. “I didn’t think you could hear me. Oh my god, you can’t be serious.”

  “Baby, I’m gonna need time to get back on my feet. Once I do, we’re walking down that aisle.”

  “You’re really serious, aren’t you?”

  “Completely,” he whispers.

  “I thought I lost you.”

  “It’d take a lot more than a car to take me away from you, Zo.”

  “I meant it,” I tell him. “I meant every word I said to you while you were asleep.”

  “You talked to me a lot. I heard you.”

  I bite my lip because I said a lot of stuff while he was asleep. Thirteen days is a long time, and I know there were parts that shouldn’t have been said in a hospital. Stuff about the book and the red tabs. Maybe he didn’t hear everything. But the look on his face tells me he heard enough.

  “I’m making you a Turner.”

  Some may argue that it’s too soon, or that the timing isn’t right. After watching Dylan confined to a bed, unable to move or speak, it’s the perfect moment for us.

  I promised myself that I’d never take us for granted another day of my life. That if he wanted us, I’d give him forever. I’d stop worrying about planning my life and weighing my options. I’d just make a damn decision and stick to it.

  From here on out, I’ll live life without regret. I’ll do all the reds, the yellows, and circle back around the greens.

  We’ve had years together, but today’s what matters. Today, I’ll make him mine forever.

  Ten Years Later

  Zoe

  “Baby, have you seen my red shirt? The one with the blue stripes?”

  I’ve seen dirty diapers, piles of dirty laundry, stacks of dirty dishes, but a shirt? Did I even change my shirt today? I don’t think I did. God, I’m disgusting.

  I’d answer Dylan, but if I do, Cooper will wake up screaming. It’ll take me another two hours to get him back to sleep and I can’t do it again.

  Tired morphed into exhaustion somewhere around midnight. Linda and Dad swore it’d get easier—that once I had a system, things would fall into place. They lied, both of them.

  Once I’m positive Cooper’s sound asleep, I lay him next to Calia, praying they do their twin thing and comfort one another. Because when one screams, the other does, too. And when they double team me, I cry along with them.

  After Eleanor was born, I was positive my twin gene skipped a generation, but it didn’t. Pregnancy number two granted me two strong-willed little ones who take after their aunt, Keely. They’re firecrackers to the core, and I blame her for sharing my DNA.

  “Zo, have you seen it?”

  “Shh, you’ll wake them up.”

  Dylan tiptoes down the hallway until we’re in the clear. Eleanor’s napping, nightmare free, and we have time to ourselves. I barely remember what life was like before kids—when not shaving was a choice. Now, it’s a luxury to run the razor over my skin before someone poops or needs fed.

  “Come here, Zo. You look beat.”

  “They hate me,” I tell my husband. The husband who put up with my whining when I couldn’t see my feet, and I waddled like a duck. He said my pregnancy curves were sexy, but my leggings were far too honest.

  “The kids adore you. You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

  “Your son spit up in my hair again.”

  He chuckles and I can’t blame him. That boy’s day isn’t complete until I have to wash my hair. “Go get a shower and I’ll open the wine.”

  “Good call. Showering is a big deal. We should celebrate.”

  Laughing, he walks me to the fridge and points to the calendar. I still rely on lists and spreadsheets to get me through feedings and appointments. I’ll go back to work when the babies are older, but for now, I’m enjoying full-time mom status.

  “Happy Anniversary, Zoe.”

  Nine years, one year shy of a decade. They haven’t been perfect years, but they’re ours.

  “I still can’t believe I married my stepbrother.” Our parents eloped a month before our big day. They didn’t want to take the attention off of us, and with it being their second time around, they went for small and simple.

  Dylan wraps his arms around me from behind, still as shirtless and delicious as ever. “And none of our kids have two heads. We did good.”

  If we learned anything from Dylan’s
recovery, it’s that life doesn’t always go as planned.

  People change.

  Dreams find new directions.

  Maybe I’m not a doctor like I’d planned, but my favorite patients live under my roof. Every runny nose, fever, and cough, I get to treat.

  Time with my family is more important than long hours and overnight shifts in a hospital—a place I fell out of love with after Dylan’s accident. But time heals all wounds and my interest in the medical field wasn’t completely lost.

  I’m Zoe Turner—wife, mother, registered nurse, and respiratory therapist. You didn’t expect this overachiever to pick just one profession, did you?

  Dylan’s journey inspired my redirection and now I watch miracles happen every day. My patients are so much more than a chart number on a piece of paper. They’re my heroes, just like Dylan was when he took his first breaths without a breathing tube.

  The front door opens and my sister sticks her head inside, watching for any little ones she might knock over. Chaz carries the car seat and sets it on the floor next to the coffee table.

  Keely flops face down onto the couch. “I live for naptime,” she says with her cheek plastered against the cushion.

  Chaz heads straight for the fridge and grabs a beer.

  “Going that well?” Dylan asks him. They had their first baby a couple weeks ago, and now they understand the joys of parenthood.

  “She’s so damn cute, but she screams like a banshee. Why do kids hate sleep? If we hadn’t put her in the car, she’d still be screaming.”

  “We’ve been there,” Dylan tells him.

  “I already know the cuteness fades,” Keely says. “Some of the little demons in my classroom rub boogers on the wall.”

  “Spoken like a true teacher,” Dylan jokes.

  “Hey, I’m a damn good one, too. I can’t help they’re all little Chazs.”

  “I’m reformed, Keely.”

  “You are,” she says with a smile. “But if you bring back those frosted tips during your mid-life crisis, I’ll revoke that status.”

  The door opens again, and Dad and Linda come in with pizza and bags in both hands. “Dad? Shit, I didn’t even shower, yet.” I thought I had more time.

  “We can tell,” Keely says. “You smell like sour milk.”